


Transgender Dysphoria, Baby Blues

by orphan_account



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, dysphoria mentions, trans!Deidara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deidara couldn’t help but wonder, tracing slim hips with a slight shudder, if it was all right to feel that way. Shouldn’t ninjas be above such feelings?<br/>Trans!Deidara fic because I've been wanting to write a fic about a trans character for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Critique

Hips that are too slim, legs that are too thin. A chest too flat, a face too sharp, a voice far too deep – the wrong _thing_ when he – she? – takes off their underwear.

Deidara hated looking at himself.

You’d think the mouth on his chest, or on his hands, would be a cause of hate. Nope. Do you know anybody else with mouths on their hands and one on their chest? Sure yeah, it’s weird and people made fun of him for it, but that doesn’t matter. Besides, they help him with his art.

It’s soothing, distracting. The feeling of being in a body that doesn’t fit, that it isn’t really his, constantly nags at the back of his brain. He notices it every time he looks down, sees the absence of breast, every time he speaks. His art distracts him, loudly, in bursts of energy. It captivates him, draws him in and away, to beautiful disaster and away from mild to intense disgust.

Transgender dysphoria, looked upon with baby blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Deidara's pronouns are going to shift from he/him to maybe they/them and finally she/her. It's supposed to be representative of how Deidara sees themself, and how other people view them.  
> The title is totally taken from Transgender Dysphoria Blues, by the way. I'm not a big fan of the style of music but I feel the title ya know :p


	2. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why" is a question that is always lingering in Deidara's mind.

Taking a shower isn't supposed to be an ordeal, y’know? It’s supposed to be get in, wash yourself, and get out. Maybe relax a little under the hot – or if you’re in a crappy hotel, tepid – water.

No such luck for Deidara.

He had somewhat gotten used to it, to ripping off his clothes as fast as he could without tripping, getting in, washing himself hurriedly, washing his hair, and getting out. Something told him that it probably wasn’t…normal to hate the sight of himself, to feel nauseous, but hey. He was an S-ranked ninja, member of the Akatsuki, and people like him shouldn’t feel like that. Right? They have bigger things to worry about. Right?

So he sighed and unsnapped his coat, laying it aside, and turning his back to the dirty mirror above the even dirtier sink, peeled away his crop-top, his fishnet tank, his pants, and his socks. Glancing in the shower to ensure there was soap and at least shampoo – there was conditioner too, a real bargain! – he turned the water on high, and shoved his underwear down before stepping in.

“Damn it!” he hissed, shuffling away from the freezing cold water.

“What is it, brat?” he heard Sasori call from the bedroom.

“Nothing, hm. Just cold,” he yelled, shivering.

He could practically hear Sasori rolling his eyes. As a puppet, he didn’t really care about temperatures or comfort. As a human, Deidara and he often butted heads with such matters. Didn’t he remember being human? Didn’t he remember that, having skin, one required the occasional comfort, even if it was in the form of a lumpy bed? Deidara hated doing missions for money – they were so _boring_ – but if it meant having a bit more comfort, maybe he would consider it.

Maybe he could buy other things, too.

The water turned tepid, and Deidara moved under it, absent-mindedly grabbing the soap and scrubbing his face before moving down to the rest of his body. Maybe he could buy some...things. “Girl” things. For research, to see if they made that feeling in the pit of his stomach go away. Maybe some more makeup...he already wore eyeliner, it wouldn't be too unusual if he bought other things - maybe a skirt...

He paused at the thought, frowning. No, that would be a waste of money. When would he wear it? He wouldn't be alone often enough to wear a skirt. He suspected that wearing a skirt would get him disgusted looks or teasing.

Did he really mind that? Yes, he decided, putting the cheap soap away and letting the water rinse the suds off of him, he did. Why? He didn't care about people messing with him about his mouths, or his speech habit, so why would that bother him?

Because he was ashamed.

 _“Amazing”_ , he thought as he snorted bitterly, grabbing the shampoo and putting a large amount on his fingers, making sure to close his hand mouths tightly before massaging the substance into his hair. He wasn't ashamed of have three extra mouths, but he was ashamed of this. Why?

Why, a question he asked himself every day but never received an answer for. A question he remembered in the shower, and pondered hard until he went to bed. He never found an answer, although he tried hard. He wondered if he ever would, rinsing the soap off his hands and feeling his stomach knot. Maybe he never would. Maybe he'd never learn why he felt disgusted with his body, why he looked at girls simply to study their body shape, the way they walked, the way they talked, their body language. Why he always seemed to find things he liked in the women's sections, not so much in the men's. Why when he was younger, and he had a test to transform into the opposite gender, he was flooded with positive emotions...

Out of all the students, he studied the hardest. He poured over anatomy books the night the assignment was given, transforming again and again and again, until he almost ran out of chakra and was exhausted.

Until he finally turned into a very convincing girl.

That had been years ago. That had been all the way back in his student days in Iwa, and he had long forgotten proper female anatomy. He tried to remember it after that day, but time passed and he had grown older. By the time a year had come and gone, he had become very uncomfortable transforming into a younger girl.

He had stopped then.

It had been his dirty little secret, a quiet pleasure, and he had become somewhat moody after realizing he would have to stop. He didn't have time to gather anatomy books and study until he was exhausted and ran out of chakra. He only had time with his duties as a ninja, and his art.

He smiled at that, rinsing the shampoo out of his thick blond hair and reaching for the conditioner, sighing slightly – both in contentment of finally having it after about two months of going without, and of the reminder of his art.

It was beautiful. It was sudden, a movement, an explosion! There and gone, and that's what made it beautiful. What's the point of art that lasts forever? What is truly amazing is something that you rarely get to see. _That_ is a privilege, and he got to enjoy that privilege every day.

He placed the conditioner in his fingertips, and closing his hand mouths firmly once more, ran it throughout his hair.

His thoughts returned to his childhood, although he knew that it would hurt if he thought about it. But the feelings were insistent, and demanded to be felt.

He remembered being disappointed when his voice broke. It got so _deep_ , and although people told him he had a nice voice, he was inclined to both agree and disagree. It was nice, but it would be nicer on someone else.

Rinsing the conditioner out, he got out of the shower before he could get even more uncomfortable with himself.

Stepping out, he quickly dried himself with the thin and rough towel that was hung on a rod by the shower. Not able to help himself, he glanced in the mirror.

The water hadn't been hot enough to fog the glass up, and he hadn't remained in it for very long. He got an unobstructed view of his body, and stood up properly.

He was thankful  - why was he so thankful? - that he wasn't too masculine. His shoulders were wide, but not as broad as some men's. His hips formed a triangle with his shoulders, and not a rectangle as many others did. He wasn't too muscular (after approaching becoming too buff for his tastes, he had cut back on exercises that would make him look less feminine), and he was at a height that could be male or female. Pushing the question _why_ out of his mind, he realized he felt slightly relieved that he didn't have the body of Kisame, or Hidan, or Kakuzu. Thinking further about Kisame - well over six feet tall and highly muscular - he became even more thankful.

Why?

Damn it, this questioning had to stop.

He was a boy, and he damn well would act like one, and like his body!

...right?

He sighed, closing his eyes. It wasn't that simple. He had tried once before, to stop feeling how he did. It didn't work - the feelings hounded him, gnawed at him. He had tried to go an entire day being a boy, acting how he knew boys were supposed to act, thinking of himself as a boy…it had hurt more than he had expected. By the time the day had come to an end, he was bitter and mentally exhausted. It was such a relief to admit that maybe he wasn’t fully a boy after all. If it hurt so much, something had to be wrong, right? Why else do things hurt?

Maybe he was half a boy, half something that prevented him from wholly calling himself one.

And maybe he was just a freak. Wouldn’t that just add to everything that was Deidara? The mutated pyromaniac with a speech quirk.

He ran his fingers through his hair and opened his eyes. No, he would never be ashamed of that. He would never be ashamed of practicing his art, nor of his mouths, nor of his manner of speech. He had enough to worry about without hating that.

Hesitating, he let his left hand fall down and his right hand trail down his body, watching where it went.

Deidara couldn’t help but wonder, tracing slim hips with a slight shudder, if it was all right to feel that way. Shouldn’t ninjas be above such feelings?

He could feel emotion welling up inside, threatening to drown him. Why? Why was he this way?

_Why?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to add that even if Deidara did look like Kisame, he wouldn't have needed to worry. Estrogen does wonderful things!  
> Thank you for reading! Poor Deidara, though. This chapter was a bit hard for me to write because of all the dysphoria mentions :X But things are picking up speed and Deidara's question will be answered in an upcoming chapter!


End file.
